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I came to Noelle’s mom’s house expecting almost nothing. If anything, I thought they’d slam the door in my face and I’d have to come up with some other way to smoke Noelle out.
But I have no idea what to make of this.
“Can I… Can I see her?” At this point, I’m not sure if I want to anymore. I don’t understand what’s happening.
The woman seems relieved. She points to the hallway. “She’s in her bedroom. Go on in.”
The linoleum flooring pops and crackles under my feet as I make my way down the hall. Possibilities run through my head. Maybe the Albanians attacked Noelle with some kind of chemical agent. A drug that can mess with her head or make her too weak to go after them.
I knock lightly at the door.
“She won’t answer,” Mrs. Levin says from the other room. “Just go on in. It’s okay.”
With a final deep breath, I turn the handle and open the door.
35
PIPER
The room is airless. The moment I walk in, I feel choked. It smells like sweat and dust, and I want to open the window.
But all of those thoughts fade when I see the lump in the middle of the bed.
Noelle is curled into a pitiful ball beneath the comforter. I can’t imagine how she’s surviving under there. I’m sweating, and I just walked in.
“Noelle?” I call softly.
She doesn’t move, so I prod at the blankets.
Suddenly, the entire bed jolts.
The blankets are tossed back and Noelle is sitting bolt upright. Her cheeks are angry twin flames, her eyes wide and bloodshot. I’ve never seen her hair anything less than sleek and shiny, but it is an absolute rat’s nest right now.
I jump back, hands up to protect myself in case she lunges.
But Noelle doesn’t move. She stares straight ahead, catatonic and unresponsive. I’m not even sure she sees me.
I frown. “Noelle?”
She flinches at the sound of my voice, but still doesn’t look at me.
“Noelle, it’s me, Piper.” I’m not sure that’s going to be comforting to her in this state, but the truth is all I’ve got. “Your mom let me in. I came to check on you.”
I actually came to pump her for information about Benjamin’s possible whereabouts, but we can save that for a moment when she isn’t having a psychotic episode.
“Stop following me,” Noelle moans. Her voice sounds soft and far away, like she’s not talking to me at all. “I can’t be sorry forever. I can’t. I’ll die.”
I inch towards the bed. “You aren’t going to die. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She closes her eyes and a full body shiver rips through her. “Everything hurts.”
“Are you sick? I can take you to the hospital if you’re hurting.”
“Here.” She presses a hand to her chest and tips her face back in silent agony. “What have I done?”
I stare at my friend, and I hardly recognize her. In every sense of the word, Noelle has fallen apart. The competent, put-together, rational woman I know is gone. The question now becomes:Is this real?
Is Noelle actually suffering through some kind of psychotic episode after the stress of the last few weeks? Or is she putting this on?
